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COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



The Little Marquise on 
the Wall and Miscella- 
nies in Verse and Prose 

By Laura G. Collins 

Pierre and Marguerite 

By M me - Rostan 




THE ROBERT CLARKE COMPANY 

CINCINNATI, NINETEEN HUNDRED AND TWO 



Copyright y 1901, hy 
The Robert Clarke Co. 




PRESS OF THE ROBERT CLARKE CO. 
CINCINNATI, U. S. A. 



DEDICATION 

TO MY DEAR FRIEND 

Miss Marie Patterson 

OF WASHINGTON AND PARIS 

COMMEMORATING IDEAL DAYS OF 

COMARADERIE 



Contents* 



POEMS. PAGE 

The Little Marquise on the Wall 7 

Spring in Kentucky 17 

Rome 19 

An Appeal 21 

Under Closed Eyelids 23 

Christmas at the Old Woman's 25 

In the Gloaming 29 

What We Owe to Italy 32 

Mother Earth 34 

I'm Athinkin' 38 

Unter den Linden 41 

MISCELLANIES IN PROSE. 

A Munich Dream Fulfilled in Rome 43 

Cloud Pictures in England 47 

My Dog Blanc 50 

The Double Portrait 59 

Legend of Lent. A Translation from the French 

of Quatrelles 63 

Part II. 

Winter Evenings in a French Pension 77 

Pierre and Marguerite 79 

Elizabeth of Hungary. A Legend of the XIII. 

Century 89 

(v) 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

My Ten Feet of Letter. A Literary Vagary. . . 95 

A Few Days' Intercourse with Miss Peabody. . 107 

1 The President is Dead " 113 

The Thistle Gatherer 116 

On Reading a Christmas Letter 124 

Rejoinder to "You Don't Love Him " 127 

Letter to a Munchausen Correspondent 132 

A Sacred Anniversary 134 

Flowers for a Good-bye, from a Young Friend. 137 

Non Semper Idem Floribus est Honor Venis. . 139 

The Lieutenant-Governor's Christmas Gift 141 



POEMS. 



'Cbe Little JMarquise on the QlalU 



What strange freaks one's memory plays ! 
A flash, and long forgotten days 
Claim and cause us to live once more 
All the life of that vanished yore ; 
And old friends as we knew them then 
Greet us and welcome us again — 
But one I remember best of all, 
The Little Marquise on the Wall. 

Standing facing me with an air 

Sweetly conscious that she was fair, 

In her rich and splendid array — 

Satins, brocades and velvets gay — 

Not one of all assembled there 

Could, she knew, with herself compare — 

And I remember best of all 

The Little Marquise on the Wall. 

(7) 



8 THE} UTTI.E MARQUISE ON THE WAIJ,. 

Easy to tell with but a glance 

She was born and bred in Sunny France, 

That ne'er her dainty feet had trod 

Other than her own native sod. 

That chateaux, palaces to her 

Kings and nobles familiar were — 

So I remember best of all 

The Little Marquise on the Wall. 

The blaze of diamonds in her hair 
That in her sparkling eyes did share, 
Such dusk of locks, such dusk of eyes — 
What depth of shadows in them lies ! 
So deep down soon we dizzy grow, 
If their secrets we seek to know. 
Yes, I remember best of all 
The Little Marquise on the Wall. 

"Before the War" — those good old times ! 
Ring out once more their gala chimes ! 
For in spite of wind and weather 
We '11 make the gay ' 'round' ' together, 



THK UTTI<3 MARQUISE ON THE WAU,. 9 

As in the old plantation days, 

From house to house in old time ways — 

While I remember best of all 

The little Marquise on the Wall. 

From steeds and vehicles we sang, 

While our laughter merrily rang 

As through canebrake, mile on mile, 

A procession in single file, 

The tall, dense stalks on either side, 

All but the sky o'erhead did hide — 

Yet I remember best of all 

The Iyittle Marquise on the Wall. 

Rang more merrily when — bad luck ! 
A tree across the road we struck. 
With no help for us in our need, 
But in one way could we proceed ; — 
Making show of disdain for such halt — 
Over ! — with jolt and lurch and vault — 
Yet I remember best of all 
The Little Marquise on the Wall. 



IO THE UTTI,E MARQUISE ON THE WAU,. 

A picture in antique frame 

Of a young, lovely, high-born dame, 

With a diamond coronet 

On her dark tresses lightly set ; 

Neck, arms, bosom, hands, gown, train, 

Gleamed as if caught in diamond rain — 

Oh ! I remember best of all 

The Little Marquise on the Wall. 

"My great, great grandmother," low she 

said, 
Our stately hostess as she led 
Us to present as to a queen — 
A fairer sure was never seen ! 
Annals and chronicles her name 
Among those show, well-known to fame — 
Yes, I remember best of all 
The Iyittle Marquise on the Wall, 

Her cheeks — what rich roses they wore — 
And to bloom there forevermore ! 
Lips, like a bow shaped, cherry red, 
Smiled as at something she 'd just said ; 



THK UTTI,B MARQUISE ON THK WAU,. 1 1 

Beauty, happiness themselves found 
With youth's brilliant radiance crowned — 
Ah ! I remember best of all 
The I^ittle Marquise on the Wall. 

Ancestry, France, the contrast strange 
Of old and new homes gave a range 
Of topics for rambling talk, 
When out-doors invited to walk, 
And bask in the sunshine and flowers, 
Where a sun-dial marked the hours, — 
Still I remember best of all 
The Little Marquise on the Wall. 

I linger now as loth to go 

As when that visit ended, though, 

Each with its imperative date, 

Many more for us were in wait ; 

And not one but knew we were bound 

To make that yearly social li Round," — 

But I remember best of all 

The little Marquise on the Wall. 



12 THB UTTI,B MARQUISE ON THE WAI.lv. 

Those lovely homes ! and one by one 
Invaded till our l ' Round ' ' was done. 
From all the Bends to Bakalum 
Resounded the cry, " Come! " " Come! " 

"Come!" 
Needless to tell we went in throngs, 
Or of our pranks and gibes and songs, — 
But I remember best of all 
The Little Marquise on the Wall. 

One fair morn of the fairest day, 

We at sunrise we under way 

To a Bend on the coast below ; 

And we hugged the shore in a tow 

Of neighborhood skiffs that were manned 

By many a gay if unskilled hand, — 

But I remember best of all 

The Little Marquise on the Wall. 

Sunlight, sparkle, the air, each jest 
To the stroke of our oars gave zest. 
The " Father of Waters " we spurned, 
Its holes and its eddies we turned 



THE UT1%E MARQUISE ON THE) WAU,. 1 3 

To ridicule in our wild mirth, 

But took care to give them wide berth, — 

Ah! I remember best of all 

The Little Marquise on the Wall. 

The fishing, the fish-frys, the spread- 
Magnolias and live oaks o'erhead — 
Of the cloths in their noonday shade, 
To the musical murmur they made 
With rustle of great glossy leaves 
Mid draperies the spider weaves — 
Still I remember best of all 
The Little Marquise on the Wall. 

The frolics, the glee and the fun, 

The yarns and the stories we spun, 

The strolls, horseback rides, buggy drives, 

The games in which every one strives 

To outreach the others, the rows 

On the lake where the China tree blows — 

But I remember best of all 

The Little Marquise on the Wall. 



14 THE UTTI,E MARQUISE ON THE WAU,. 

I am eager to tell ere I've done 
Of another — the gayest one! 
Catholic-French, the old regime, 
On the banks of the mighty stream, 
Held o'er acres and slaves full sway, 
As was the custom of the day, — 
Yet I remember best of all 
The Little Marquise on the Wall. 

There were sons and daughters and wife, 

A home-circle with blessings rife. 

The Southern house embowered in vines, 

Porches round which lovingly twines 

Many a floral beauty and rare, 

In those old days naught was missed there - 

But I remember best of all 

The Little Marquise on the Wall. 

The sire, as French as French could be, 
Was from his France a refugee ; 

A brave soldier, Colonel le 

Under Napoleon won his rank; 



THE UTTI,£ MARQUISE ON THE) WAU,. 1 5 

As nimble of foot as of tongue, 

He tripped in the dance, played and sung— 

Yet I remember best of all 

The Iyittle Marquise on the Wall. 

The ditties and troubadour lays 

Of his youthful, campaigning days ; 

His talk was all wit, flash and fun, 

Ne'er for long did his tongue cease to run ; 

At eighty — " I tell you again 

I am not one — of — your old men/* — 

Yet I remember best of all 

The Little Marquise on the Wall. 

And oh! how he did pirouette ! 
Making us one and all forget 
Everything but his lightness and grace, 
And the varying charm of his face, 
The charm of the man through and 

through — 
Till reluctant we bad adieu — 
Yet I remember best of all 
The Little Marquise on the Wall. 



1 6 THK WTTI.B MARQUISE ON THE WAU<. 

Such revels from morning to night- 

Ah! just to recall what delight! 

With feasting and dancing, Time's wheel 

The days did relentlessly steal, 

Till aghast we suddenly found 

We had reached the end of our "Round!" — 

So I remember best of all 

The Little Marquise on the Wall. 

" Those good old days " — how better far 
The good days of the present are! 
For War, Peace, with their might sublime, 
Have wrought miracles since that time! 
And our merry, light-hearted band 
Scattered is in many a land — 
Still I remember best of all 
The Iyittle Marquise on the wall. 

AT Home, December 13, 1898. 



SPRING IN KENTUCKY. 1 7 



Spring in Kentucky* 



The tenderest green 

That was ever seen 
Is the green of Kentucky's hills ; 

And its thousand hues 

Her woods suffuse 
And gleam in the flash of her rills. 

And the densest shade 

That was ever made 
Is the shade of her forests deep, 

Where the shadows hide 

In the woodlands wide 
And in glens and gorges sleep. 

And the bluest skies, 
With their matchless dyes, 

Are the skies that bend o'er her realm, 
With their crystal air 
And their cloud fleets rare 

Asail without helmsman or helm. 



1 8 SPRING IN KENTUCKY. 

Oh ! the fairest earth 
That ever had birth 
Is this of Kentucky's domain. 
When flowery May 
Doth mingle her sway 
With the leafy June's vernal reign. 
June 2, 1899. 

[Suggested by the following passage from a 
private letter written at Gallipolis, Ohio : " Nature 
here is glorious ; the verdure and blossoms are far 
beyond what they usually are at this time of the 
year, and Kentucky, with her beautiful hills and 
fields, must be just as far advanced. u 



ROME). 19 



Rome* 



Nowhere so lovely a sky bends over, 

Nowhere so brilliant a sun shines down, 
Nowhere, though one sought the wide world 
over, 
Can be found such an enchanting old 
town. 

Nowhere such revel of light, warmth and 
glory 
Fills the wide range of the wandering 
glance ; 
Nowhere such wealth in Earth's famed 
story, 
Of ruins whose value ages only enhance. 

Arch, column, palace, temple and church, 
Their sorcery of beauty and mystery fling, 

Bewildering, baffling the eagerest search 
That would their long -hidden history 
wring. 



20 ROME). 

Nowhere such, reverent ravage of Time, 
Adding fresh interest with every fresh 
trace, 
Hiding the havoc of war, age and clime 
With mellowing tints or the vine's classic 
grace. 

Nowhere so tender, soft an air enfolds 
Such treasures of obelisk, tower and 
dome; 
Nowhere such vision transmutes all it holds 
Into loftiest musings, for — there is but 

one Rome ! 
Rome, January 31, 1886. 



AN APPEAR. 21 



Hn HppeaL 



Awake in the eventide, soul of mine ! 

Shine thou within with light divine. 

Be supreme through one lapsing hour's 

flow. 
There is much between us each should 

know. 

What are we one to the other ? — say. 
Is it thou or I, spirit or clay, 
The life between us shared doth guide ? 
And in which path, the narrow or wide ? 

Is it thou ? is it I ? spirit or clay ? 
That wieldeth the fine, invisible sway 
L,ike sunshine in flowers adding grace to 

grace, 
Or venom as subtle, — the serpent's sure 

trace ? 



22 AN APPEAR. 

Earth to earth — dust to dust— is it so? 
For answer why surges within me this 

throe ? 
I aspire ! — I aspire ! I^et there be 
Eternity — Immortality ! 



UNDER CIX)SKD EYELIDS. 23 



Under Closed Gyeltds. 



Under closed eyelids they come and go, 
Pictures in Memory's magic glow — 
For we lived them all in the L,ong Ago. 

Nestled away like the brooding dove, 
Childhood's home and the mother-love, 
Type of that we shall find above. 

By some subtle con jury of that night 
Of eyelids veiling the outer light, 
Floats there a picture wondrous bright. 

Beautiful river flowing past, 

Arching sky so blue and vast, 

You have not changed since I saw you last. 

River and hillside, orchard and lawn, 

The sw 7 ing in the tree that caught the dawn, 

The stoop where we watched the sunlight 

fade, 
The daylight die, and the sky inlaid 
With the starry worlds by hands not made, 



24 UNDER CI.OSKD KYEUDS. 

Bowers of roses and scented things, 
Trees that gleamed with flashing wings — 
Whose the hand this picture flings 
Under closed eyelids after long years? 
'Tis gone — blotted out by blinding tears. 



CHRISTMAS AT THE) OLD WOMAN'S. 25 



Christmas at the Old Roman's CClbo 
Lived in a Shoe* 



11 There was an old woman 
Who lived in a shoe, 
And she had so many children 
She didn t know what to do." 

We don't care, no, not a bit, if we do, 
Mammy and all of us, live in a shoe, 
For Old Santa Claus has come to us, too ; 
Hurra for Old Santa Claus ! Ain't he true 
true? 

Hurra ! hurra ! hi, hi, diddle, diddle ! 
In holiday clothes we're fine as a fiddle. 
And we just bet that you can't guess our 

riddle : 
What's got if holiday's broke in the middle ? 

Oh ! it's as funny as funny can be ; 
Plainly the answer none of you can see, 
Because you haven't got it — it' s an i. d. 
Hurra for Old Santa ! he's winking at me. 



26 CHRISTMAS AT THK OI.D WOMAN'S. 

He brought us all round new gowns and 

new suits, 
Bonnets, hats, jackets, caps, slippers and 

boots ; 
All kinds of candies, nuts, raisins and 

fruits ; — 
'Rah ! for Old Santa, as down chimney he 

shoots. 

She calls us a diabolical crew ; 

Well, sometimes we have called her a horrid 

old shrew, 
When, from her frowns, we knew storms 

did brew, 
And over our heads that birch-rod she drew. 

But poor old mammy ! no wonder she's 

tried ; 
We banter, chaff, worry, mimic, deride ; 
We steal on her broomstick many a ride ; 
We've teased her and squeezed her till she 

has cried. 



CHRISTMAS AT THE OI,D WOMAN'S. 27 

We're a terrible tangle of sisters and 

brothers, 
And it might be best did we have some 

more mothers, — 
One for these, one for those, one for the 

others, 
For tusslers and scufflers and 1 1 down hims ' ' 

and smothers. 

Sometimes we come to a penitent pause, 
Get all together and lay down stern laws 
Further worry about us to give her no 

cause, 
For we somehow feel sure that will please 

Santa Claus. 

Then how she smiles ; how the wrinkles 

depart ; 
What stories she tells with a mother's true 

art ! 
We seem to look right down into her heart. 
But, oh dear ! 'tisn't long till we make a 

fresh start. 



28 CHRISTMAS AT THE OI,D WOMAN'S. 

Yet though we do make her such a hard lot, 
We have for her many a hard battle fought. 
She's just as good a mother as any one's 

got, 
And not the whole world shall say she is 

not ! 

You may be surprised to see us appear 
Dressed in our best — in this holiday gear. 
We're to have our picture taken, no matter 

how dear, 
For Santa Claus, Christmas, and the Yule 

time are here. 



IN THK GlyOAMING. 29 



In the 6loanring* 



In the gloaming all alone, 
In the old familiar places 
Haunted by a shadowy host 
Of the old familiar faces, 
How the spirit shrinks and falters 
Where their consecrated altars 

Tell how human hearts atone- 
In the gloaming all alone ! 

In the gloaming all alone 
There are gay and happy creatures, 
With a tender, happy lovelight 

Making radiant their features. 
Ah! we know them, — childhood's treas- 
ures, — 
As they float in graceful measures — 

Dearest, little friends once known, — 
In the gloaming all alone ! 



30 IN THE GLOAMING. 

In the gloaming all alone 
Glide shy lovers one by one, 
Just as in that lost Elysium 

They unconsciously had done. 
1,0 ve that every joy enhances 
Beams in their enraptured glances — 

The old sweet ecstasy once shown, — 
In the gloaming all alone ! 

In the gloaming all alone 
Life's long pageant is unrolled ; 
Splendid men and splendid women, — 

Ah ! so soon their fates were told, — 
All alive they come to meet us, 
All alive so gently greet us — 

Just a dream from Old Times blown, - 
In the gloaming all alone ! 

In the gloaming all alone 
Bursts a spectacle divine ! 
Past and Present fade away, 
And a Future all benign 



IN THE GLOAMING 3 1 

Sheds its solace as we gaze, 
For life finding cheer and praise 

To o'ercome all plaint or moan, — 

In the gloaming all alone ! 



32 WHAT WE OWE TO ITALY. 



Slbat Wit Owe to Italy* 



First, for that funny little fellow 
Whose next of kin is Punchinnello — 
Man, organ and small monkey, 
The last such a winning, cunning flunkey. 

As a mimic soldier cap-a-pie 
He begs your nickels martially. 
There's often on our menu card 
A cake that 's eaten yard by yard. 

To give it name we Yankees have not far 

to go; 
The tilting lines each one of us must know. 
Sing then " Yankee Doodle/' all of you, 
The tune that shows you are "true blue." 

"He put a feather in his cap and 

Called it Maccaroni ;" 
Would I 'd been there to charge on him 

With war clubs of "Bologne !" 



WHAT WK OWE TO ITALY. 33 

Now, some there be beyond a doubt 
Would put this summing up to rout ; 
They'd point to her famed men of yore, 
Her treasures vast, and count them o'er 

As misers do their precious hoard 
Of gold and gems in secret stored. 
The paintings, sculptures, curios rare, 
That her magnificence declare. 

Name with her own imperial air 
To prove none can with her compare ; 
And Byron's distich quote, maybe, 
To show his love for Italy. 

"Open my heart and you will see 
Graved inside of it Italy." 
Well, they are welcome, for Truth is free, 
And each for himself the Truth should see. 

So, whate'er our debts, small or great, 

None of us will repudiate ; 

And for her gifts ungrudgingly 

We '11 shout one and all, ' ' 'Rah for Italy I" 



34 MOTHER EARTH. 



Mother Garth* 



To have lived more than three-score years 
and ten — 
From childhood through life's every 



stage 



On this beautiful Mother Earth of ours, 
And but now on the brink of old age — 



To a sudden exquisite sense awake 
Of a subtle kinship with all we see — 

Of a new experience strange and grand, 
Of hill, dale, river, mount and lea! 



A something unknown hitherto subdues, 
A something in the sky overhead, 

And too in the circumambient air, 
And in the earth under our tread — 



MOTHER EARTH. 35 

That seems to embrace in a clasp divine, 
To put us in touch everywhere 

With this home we have never known be- 
fore, 
With this mother so dear and fair. 

No form does she take to our straining 
gaze, 
No visible arms does she show, 
But we feel her enfolding no less firm and 
sure, 
See her countenance with love aglow. 

Oh! the comforting tender thoughts that 
come 

When w r e dwell on her loving care, 
And understand all she* bestows on us, 

Demanding, nor pleading, nor prayer. 

When she folds us so gently to her breast, 
We feel every throb of her heart, 

And realize that we have, how we know 
not, 
Become of Great Nature a part. 



2,6 MOTHER EARTH. 

The perfume of flowers, the light of stars, 
The flash of love's divine glance, 

The low, sweet music of affection's voice, 
These but her great love enhance. 

The tiniest flower abloom at our feet, 

The tenderest blade of grass 
That so gently pierces the sod, it's brown, 

Turning to green as we pass, 

Have tendrils of kinship outstretching 
thought 
To Creation's utmost bound, 
Through countless systems of worlds that 
with the 
Music of the spheres resound. 

Oh! the sublime, voiceless thoughts that 
surge 

Through teeming brain, heart and soul! 
Oh! the twofold anointed vision that grasps 

The Universe as a whole! 



MOTHER KARTH. 37 

Eyes of both body and spirit that gaze 

In rare exaltation where 
The myriads of worlds revolve and blaze, 

And thus her glory declare. 

And w r hen at the last life's night doth de- 
scend, 

While Death, the stern reaper, waits 
Till old Father Time his fatal wheel turns 

That decides our human fates. 

She — the great Mother — makes room in her 
breast 
For these poor bodies of clay 
To be one w T ith herself in the sod, in the 
air — 
A something to exist alway. 



38 



"I 'm a Onnfun" 



[The little, old museum keeper of Nantucket.] 

Reader, have you ever struck it 
That museum at Nantucket, 
With its queerest of collections 
Placed around in queerer sections ? 
There are shipwrecked whales and whalers 
With the fragments of the sailors ; 
Whitened bones of men and fishes 
Mixed with rare old China dishes ; 
Spars and bits of some old dory- 
Tell of its disastrous story ; 
Shells full of the sea's adorning 
With the colors of the morning ; 
Shaped by winds and waves for ages 
In old ocean's fiercest rages ; 
Painted by unseen con jury 
Of nature hid from human eye ; 



"i'm a thinkin'." 39 

Filled with music as by magic, 

Soft and low or weird and tragic ; 

Saddest murmurs, wails and dirges 

Caught alike from ocean's surges. 

The present, I am certain, 

Falling round you like a curtain, 

Made you seem another being 

Linked to the past and seeing 

As an-ti-di-lu-vi-ans 

In the vanished dim, lost eons — 

Till you shook yourself and queried, 

" Where is the oldest? I am wearied — 

Such a lot of old-time lumber 

To keep track of ! What 's its number ? 

Find the oldest. Don't you know it ? 

Or do n't you want to show it ? 

Can't you answer?" — "I'm a thinkin." 

And he stood there just a blinkin'. 

His black beads of eyes all glitter, 
Till you felt none could be fitter 
Than himself, the wizard keeper, 
Raking memory deep and deeper. 



40 

While the gimlet eyes grew narrow, 
Boring to your very marrow ; 
And you turned and left him blinkm* 
Still repeating "I'm a thinkin'." 
What you've missed, if you never struck it, 
That queer museum at Nantucket ! 



UNTER D£N UNDE)N. 41 



Outer den Linden* 



Unter den I^inden wrapt I stand, 

With palaces on either hand. 

Some with their pomp of king and state, 

Some with a prestige far more great ; 

Scarce a stone's throw across the way 

Science and art hold rival sway ! 

One palace doth a window show 

Called the "The Historic, " where doth go 

Each noonday to gaze forth a man 

Whom force of fate placed in the van. 

The victor in a mighty war 

Came forth king, kaiser, emperor ! 

Now all burned out the martial fire, 

His people's gentle, gray-haired sire. 

He watches his "Changed Guard" pass by 
With childlike smile or tear-dimmed eye. 
Below packed masses fill the square, 
And heads are bared, shouts rend the air, 



42 UNTER DEN UNDKN. 

Kerchiefs are waved, liats flung on high, 
In a wild burst of loyalty. 
In the vast throng an alien I 
Glow too and thrill in sympathy ; 
Give feelingly the homage due 
To one so simple and so true ; 
Yet turn with head erect and proud 
When melts away the curious crowd, 
Dismissed by kindly wave of hand, 
And bless anew my native land ! 
Junk, 1899. 



A MUNICH DREAM FUI,FII,I,BD. 43 



H Munich Dream fulfilled in Rome* 



In the dream I was walking; had just 
passed through the Gate of Victory when a 
lady friend, with whom I had grown up, 
confronted me. The surprise and greet- 
ing over, she began a tirade against Mu- 
nich. 

"Why," said she, "there is nothing in- 
teresting here. It is just a great overgrown 
city without inhabitants enough to people 
the streets. It is as quiet as a cemetery. 
How do you stand it?" 

" What ! " I indignantly exclaimed ; 
"nothing interesting! What have you been 
doing ? What have you seen ? or rather, 
what have you not seen? " 

"Oh! I have seen about all there is to 
be seen." 



44 A MUNICH DREAM FUI,FIIJ,BD. 

I did not wait to hear her, but began 
impetuously a regular catechism. 

"Have you seen the Glyptothek, the 
Old Pinakothek, the New Kaulbach Mu- 
seum, the Royal Library, National Museum, 
Palace Basilica? Have you?" but I was 
breathless. 

"No," she replied, indifferently. 

"Come then and let me show you these, 
and I think you will have a change of 
mind." 

We had a round of all these grand at- 
tractions, and stopping for a rest, I tri- 
umphantly challenged her opinion. 

For reply she burst into a merry laugh, 
saying, "Oh! I knew all about them; but 
I just wanted to make you take me around 
and tell me of them. You know you are 
such an enthusiast. ' ' 

In a moment she was gone, and I was in 
Rome. I had never been there. I realized 
at once that I was standing in front of the 
Grotto of Egeria. How this realization 



A MUNICH DRKAM FUI^FIIXED. 45 

came to me belongs to the mystery of 
dreams. 

It was in a shallow valley; a cave, or 
grotto, with the fountain trickling low 
down in its farthest corner. Vines were 
trailing over the front of the cave and all 
about the fountain, the waters of which 
slipped over its floor and through the grass 
under my feet. It was a cool, quiet, rest- 
ful, retired little vision of beauty. 

I looked for the Grove. It was near by, 
on a gentle ridge, a dark clump of ilex. 

The excitement of the spectacle awoke 
me. My heart was throbbing violently. 

Several months later found me in Rome. 
One of my earliest excursions, it may well 
be believed, was to that "Sacred Spot." 
Self-control was impossible. Part of the 
way was a walk through rough fields, 
scrambles over dilapidated stone fences, 
and wrenches from bramble thickets. Curi- 
osity made me reckless. My heart was 
beating a tattoo. Then presently the 



46 A MUNICH DREAM FUI,FII,I,BD. 

longest breath I ever drew — a gasp — a 
low cry. 

There was the Grotto of Egeria, the 
very counterpart of that of my dream. 



CLOUD PICTURES IN ENGLAND. 47 

Cloud pictures in GnglancL 

BETWEEN LONDON AND WINDSOR CASTI/E. 



There was a chasm in a bank of gray 
storm clouds. Cut in the outline of the 
southern side was an immense profile of a 
man. In a moment it rolled away like a 
scroll, revealing two perfect busts. The 
farther one of the gray cloud, outlined 
against a faint blue sky beyond, was a fac- 
simile of a view of the Sphinx, the pyramid 
Cheops, in gigantic proportions. The other, 
apparently touching the shoulder, only a 
little behind and lower, of a more pearl- 
hued gray, outlined against the Sphinx, 
was that of a colossal goddess, helmeted 
and of the purest Grecian type, an ideal 
Minerva, with chiseled features of such ex- 
quisite delicacy as to be almost transparent, 
and an expression of impregnable dignity. 



48 CLOUD PICTURES IN ENGLAND. 

The expression of the former was that of 
the grave majesty, the martyr patience, 
equal to bearing the haunting memories of 
centuries of unbroken silence. 

Another moment and a curtain of im- 
penetrable cloud descended, gradually hid- 
ing them from view. 

As it were with the wave of a conju- 
rer's wand, another form appeared — a ne- 
gress fat and comfortable-looking, half-risen 
from a couch and seemingly partly resting 
on her farther arm. She was looking 
towards the west. A sunset glow of the 
most ethereal pink and gold lit up her un- 
couth features. Her head - kerchief was 
awry, and one end stood straight up from 
her forehead like a battered plume. Slowly 
this receded to the back of her head, the 
features changing in perfect time till it was 
resolved into a Highland chieftain in full 
Tartan plaid, prone on the brink of a lofty 
cliff, stretching backward, carelessly resting 
on his near elbow, with his farther leg 



CIX>UD PICTURES IN KNGl^AND. 49 

thrown over the hither one, and looking off 
into some vast distance, whither my gaze 
could not follow. There he was, clear as 
reality, just while you caught your breath, 

and then nothing but shapeless cloud. 

Yet within the moment another rift 
opened — you did not see when or how, but 
there it was — with a span of cloud like the 
Natural Bridge in Virginia, or the Arched 
Rock at Mackinac, and standing out clear 
and sharp, midway, was the blasted trunk 
of a great tree, with one long, naked branch, 
on which sat a wild turkey. I watched it 
"melt into air, thin air." V/hen it was 
quite gone, a shower swept up that lasted 
into the night. 



50 MY DOG BI.ANC AND I. 



]My Dog Blanc and !♦ 



"Would you like to have Blanc? 
Moving about as I shall be for some 
months I cannot take him with me, and 
I cannot give him to a stranger. ' ' 

That is the way I came to have him. 
Blanc and I were already warm friends. 
He was a canine Adonis, pure, snowy- 
white hair, long and thick, with a large 
wave in it till near the end, where it 
twisted into great loose curls. Very dark 
eyes, and so full of expression looking into 
them, the conviction could not be thrust 

aside that 

" beyond the sky 
Your faithful dog would keep you company. ' ■ 

He was medium in size according to 
dog standard, but for a Spitz he was quite 
large. He had a dignity of bearing that 



MY DOG BLANC AND I. 5 1 

did not invite familiarity ; in fact, not a 
few were afraid of him till they became 
well acquainted, when they acknowledged 
his amiability and many graces, and were 
proud to be friends with him. His dis- 
tinguishing characteristics were general 
amiability, affectionateness, an amusing 
timidity and air of helplessness in trying 
circumstances, a strong dash of obstinacy 
in trying to have his ow r n way, and an in- 
genuity in devising and carrying out ways 
and means to succeed, that set one thinking 
there might be truth after all in the doctrine 
of the transmigration of souls. The query 
would arise, might not he have been a 
human being once upon a time, and up to 
tricks, the artf ulest of all "artful dodgers.'* 
Whereupon atonement was made forthwith 
for such suspicion by extra petting. 

We became inseparable friends. When 
in the country we scoured hilltop and hill- 
side, hollow and meadow, and gathered 
wild flowers ; that is, he was ready to 



52 MY DOG BI.ANC AND I. 

stretch himself on or roll over them while 
I gathered. He went through deep clover 
fields in vaults, making himself into white 
festoons as it were over their expanse of 
dainty green tufted with red tops. He 
always took a rest in shallow places. Once 
there was a long tramp after some way- 
ward peafowls. They would not be 
whistled or wheedled into returning home ; 
but just as we thought to turn them they 
floated off to still more distant perches, 
with their beautiful tail feathers making a 
thousand eyes at us as they spread them 
on the air. After two or three repetitions 
of such aggravation, his disgust and anger 
became comical, and he turned his back on 
them and fairly tore homeward. Were it 
a walk to the near city or a drive about the 
country-side, he was on the alert to see if 
he was included. Taking the former, he 
was all barks and leaps and capers and 
frolics as long as no cow appeared on the 
scene. The merest glimpse of one ap- 



MY DOG BLANC AND I. 53 

proaching brought him to my side trembling 
or made him cower behind me. This 
timidity was as unreasonable and un- 
manageable as the nervousness of a woman. 
A favorite drive was that of a new avenue, 
bordered by many fine trees and pretty 
tasteful homes, the drive-way being a 
splendid dirt road. There was but one 
drawback : at the midway home there was 
a lot of curs — snarling, spiteful, quarrel- 
some — always ready to fight anything they 
dared. They were six or seven to Blanch 
one. Had he studied the odds against 
him and admitted to himself the hopeless- 
ness of trying to fight ? Who can tell ? 
What he did was this : he would gambol 
along the road, sometimes under the 
vehicle like a trained coach dog, or trot 
along first on one side and then on the 
other, or take a scurry ahead and back 
again; in a word, doing everything pos- 
sible with might and main as if his whole 
heart was in it, till we neared that par- 



54 MY DOG BI.ANC AND I. 

ticular house, when he would bound to 
the carriage and bark furiously to be taken 
in. As soon as we were well beyond them 
— those dreadful curs — he would jump out 
and be off again. It is impossible not to 
believe that one of his most vivid memories 
was that of the one time he started to enter 
into friendly relations with them and the 
pack of them set upon him, dancing round 
him, barking in mad chorus, snapping at 
him, biting his ears, catching his tail and 
shaking it, and finally — the last and most 
triumphant indignity — throwing him down 
in the liquid mud and rolling him over 
and over in it. When at last he was 
rescued, there was not so much as a single 
white hair or gleam to his whole body ! 
It took several baths and bars of soap to 
restore his pristine splendor, and it was 
weeks before he resumed his usual stately 
deportment. 

The most prominent episode of our com- 
radeship was a dog fight, in which there 



MY DOG BI.ANC AND I. 55 

were four principals, he and another dog, 
and I and that dog's owner — she was a 
neighbor. The dog was known to be vi- 
cious and kept chained in the daytime. 
I had some business with her one forenoon. 
Blanc went with me, We crossed the high- 
way, opened the gate, but had no sooner 
entered than the dog came rushing at us. 
The two grappled each other, and we, too, 
without so much as a greeting, grappled 
each her own dog and began the squabble 
to separate them. We were soon outside 
the gate on the highway; now on one side, 
then the other; next, in the middle; some- 
times tugging at them on our feet, in the 
next moment dashed to our knees and 
dragged here and there in the dirt till as 
suddenly hurled to our feet again, not one 
of the four relinquishing the clutch of teeth 
or hands. It seemed that it would indeed 
be a fight to the death, and that all would 
be torn to pieces — Blanc was almost, before 
some passersby succeeded in parting us. 



56 MY DOG BI.ANC AND I. 

The role of invalid was never more per- 
fectly played. He did not even attempt to 
do anything for himself ; would not lift his 
head, move himself, or stir in any way, 
but just waited and looked, his expectation 
to be nursed and attended to. 

But if there was ever a more unique dog 
fight — two dogs and two ladies, on the most 
traveled road leading from a city at high 
noon — where is its history ? 

We became denizens of a large city. 
Blanc soon accustomed himself to the 
change, and I am obliged to confess not only 
grew to like it but took rather too readily 
to some of its fascinations. He became 
dissipated. He and a number of the neigh- 
borhood dogs seemed to form a club. They 
had a rendezvous where they met at set 
times, at odd times, at all times, especially 
of evenings, where they barked, howled, 
scurried about over fences, on porticos, 
around houses and the like, singly or in a 
body, or engaged in a general tussel, far 



MY DOG BI.ANC AND I. 57 

into the night, finally scattering each to 
his own home no matter what the hour, 
which, however, was never early and often 
midnight or later, on reaching which 
Blanc for himself barked and scratched to 
be let in, till opening the door was the 
choice between two evils. The cool assur- 
ance with which he shot past, sprang on 
to his bed and curled up in instant sleep, 
looked not a little like dog depravity. 
Who can say it was or was not? The 
morning, however, showed him so hand- 
some and innocent looking and so over- 
flowing with dog blandishments, the first 
thing you knew you were petting him 
more than ever. 

Many dogs grin. Blanc could cry. 
Once I said to him, "Blanc I am going 
where I cannot take you, you will have to 
stay at home." Starting to the door he 
followed quickly. I looked at him, shook 
my head, and said decidedly, "No, you 
cannot go." He set down, fixed a most 



58 MY DOG BI,ANC AND I. 

mournful gaze on me, and ' ' the big, round 
tears coursed down his innocent nose," in 
very truth. He always cried as the last 
means to secure his own way. Would come 
sit close by me, whimper if I took no no- 
tice of him, the tears rolling down as he 
looked at me out of the corner of his eyes 
to see if I was observing him. 

We were at a friend's house. At the 
six o'clock dinner — it was winter and the 
ground covered with snow — he was in the 
dining-room and restless to get out. Fear- 
ing he would annoy the host and hostess, I 
went to the door, opened it and stepped 
out on to the piazza with him for a 
moment. He bounded away in great 
leaps and soon vanished in the distance. 

I never saw him again ; never heard of 
him. Is it a wonder if I have never had a 
pet since ? 



the; DOUBI.K portrait. 59 



Cbe Double portrait* 



My little boy — mine. That is his pic- 
ture on the wall. I/x>k at him. He is 
looking at you, but does not see you. He 
is in a revery. Often the picture is called 
just that — " Revery. " 

The picture is a double portrait. I 
painted it. There were two children, 
brother and sister, who called me ' f Aunt 
Violet.' y The sister was a golden blonde ; 
the brother a flaxen. Each was a wonder 
of child beauty. Golden and flaxen curls ; 
flesh, skin and color of such texture and 
tints as constantly called forth exclamations 
of amazement and admiration. In every 
point, models of physical perfection. 

In the studio, when I was painting my 
picture, teacher and pupils would stand 
over and watch me. Many said, " You are 



60 THE DOUBLE PORTRAIT. 

painting some one you love. He is a little 
boy, to be sure, but there is something of a 
little girl, too, about him." The little girl 
was the older. I put her golden curls on 
his head, but the dream in his eyes was his 
own. 

HKRK IS THK PICTURE. 

It is life size — the life size of a child be- 
tween four and five years old. The head is 
pillowed on the left arm, which rests on the 
edge of a table, over which hangs the hand, 
clasped at the wrist by the right hand. The 
hands are shapely, plump and dimpled. 
The hair is parted, boylike, at the side, and 
the curls are tossed back carelessly and lie 
in a picturesque heap on the neck. The 
eyes are radiant blue, and they look straight 
out of the picture at one, but, seeing, take 
no note, being lost in a dream. He seems 
so real, so alive, I sometimes try to rouse 
him, to make him smile, to make him look 
at and speak back to me. He has never 



THE DOUBI^K PORTRAIT. 6 1 

stirred. Never so much as an eyelash has 
quivered. 

They grew up ; she a dazzling beauty, 
full of vivacity, wit, and the graces of cul- 
ture and society, and with a heart tender 
and true in a thorough womanliness. He, 
as one said of him, "Almost an ideal.' ' Su- 
perb physique ; rarely educated, brilliant, 
versatile, marvelously gifted, sensitive as a 
young girl, quick to feel for others, and as 
swift to try to help and comfort. 

Presently girlhood's romance — love and 
a lover. In a fortnight they were to be 
married. It was winter-time. A fall on 
the ice, an injury that developed to a fatal 
issue, a few days of agonizing fluctuations 
of hopes and fears — then the end. She faced 
her fate without a murmur; had only words 
of courage for herself and love and cbeer 
for the dear ones she was leaving. 

His career was brilliant and as brief. 
Just a meteor flashing on the gaze and 
gone. 



62 THE) DOUBI^ PORTRAIT. 

When I look at the picture, I see them 
both. The many years between now and 
then fall away, and I have them again — my 
dear little ones. 

i 1,0 vkd them so. 



THK I.KGKND OF IJSNT. 63 



XZhc Legend of Lent* 



[From the French of Quatrelles.] 
" I say, papa, in the Bible you gave me 
there is one thing I don't understand." 

II Only one?" 
" Only one." 

' ' Fortunate child ! What is it ? ' ' 

I I I see that mankind having been very 
wicked, the good God sent a deluge to de- 
stroy all there was on the earth. The rain 
fell for forty days, then only the highest 
mountains remained above the water ; finally 
everything was drowned. Well ! What 
about the fishes ? ' ' 

The mother began to stir the fire. The 
father was silent for a moment, then, wav- 
ing the child away, said, 
— ' ' You always ask questions destitute of 
common sense." 

" Because I do not understand." 



64 THB IvKGBND OF LKNT. 

"Go to your mother ; I must read my 
paper. ' ' 

" Go to your father ; don't you see that 
I am busy? " 

The father felt the great wrong that he 
was doing. He recalled his son, who was 
going away pouting. 

" Come back, Maurice ; sit down there. 
Since you are so anxious to know, I will 
tell you what took place in the 6ooth year 
of Noah's life, on the seventeenth day of 
the seventh month." 

The attentive child sat down, leaning 
against his mother's knee. 

' ' In those days men lived nearly a thou- 
sand years, and spent their time in evil. 
They were a strong race ; giants of many 
cubits, tamers of mastodons - , and fishers of 
whales. They used their strength only in 
slaughter and destruction. Then the Crea- 
tor became very angry. If the anger of 
man can sometimes influence the world, it 
is frightful to think what the anger of God 



THE I.KGKND OF LKNT. 65 

would be ! Happily for the human race, 
there lived one worthy family, of which 
Noah was the head. God decided to spare 
it, but resolved to destroy all the rest of 
creation.' ' 

' * So if Noah had been wicked the world 
would have come to an end right then ? ' ' 

" It is more than probable. God went 
to see Noah, and said to him : * The more 
I examine the earth, the more improve- 
ments I see that should be made. Man, 
whom I have preferred above all else, neg- 
lects and outrages me. I will exterminate 
him, and I wish the earth to bear the im- 
pression of his punishment forever. All 
that walk, all that creep, all that fly, shall 
die.'" 

" The good God was pretty mad, wasn't 
he?" 

" He had reason to be. You might 
have walked a thousand miles without find- 
ing an obedient child." 

"Oh !" 



66 THE) LEGEND OF I,ENT. 

" You know the story of the ark, so I 
shall not tell you about it." 

1 c Yes ; but why did Noah allow such 
ugly things as the spider, scorpion, and bug 
to enter it ? " 

"As to the bug, it was not Noah's fault. 
As it was entering after all the rest, he 
wished to push to the door and shut it out ; 
but it was already half way in, and was 
caught in the closing door and crushed. 
Ever since it has been flat." 

1 ' What a pity that it could not get 
through ! But since the good L,ord saved 
one family because it was good, and de- 
stroyed all the rest, why didn't he select 
good lions that would not have eaten men, 
and good wolves that would never have 
frightened me ? ' ' 

' ' You slander the wolves and lions, my 
child. When they came out of the ark, 
they were the best of animals ; it is man 
who has made them ferocious. But if you 



THE LEGEND OF LENT. 67 

continue to interrupt me I shall never reach 
the end of my story." 

" I shan't say another word." 

"When everything was ready, as God 
had ordered, the wind began to blow fierce- 
ly, very fiercely. The mountains rocked 
and burst asunder. The waters rose and 
overflowed their limits instead of keeping 
their usual channels. The sun was the 
color of blood, and great black clouds chased 
each other madly across the sky. The earth 
shook, and every time it shook craters 
yawned, from whence escaped sometimes 
flames, sometimes boiling water." 

"It is I who would not wish to have 
been there ! ' ' 

" Indeed, I think not ! The men made 
fine promises. But it was too late. The 
sea hurled its waves upon the land — and 
such waves ! " 

1 ' As high as houses ? ' ' 

* ' Higher. Some were a league in 
height." 



68 THK LKGKND OF I^ENT. 

11 Oh, no ! that could not be." 

" The animals that could not speak and 
tell falsehoods stretched themselves on the 
ground and never stirred." 

11 Were not the spiders furious ?" 

" Yes ; and the lions, too, I can tell you. 
First the sea engulfed the valleys, tearing 
up the forest, carrying off houses and towns, 
and sweeping away in its waves the crum- 
bling mountains. Still the waters rose 
higher and higher, pursuing the human 
race as it clambered up their sides. That 
day even the lame and impotent reached 
heights, impelled by their terror, that man 
will never reach again. Birds flew about in 
wild affright, beaten by the storm, till, find- 
ing no place to rest, they fell into the seeth- 
ing waters.' ' 

" Canaries, too? " 

" Canaries, too, except the pair Noah 
had carried with him in his little cage." 

" And butterflies?" 

"And butterflies." 



THE) I^GEND OF I.KNT. 69 

" The butterflies had been very wicked, 
then?" 
"Very." 

' ' Swallows were drowned last of all, 
were they not ? ' ■ 

1 1 Of course. At the end of a hundred 
and fifty days, w 7 hen the last man had cried 
out as he sank beneath the waters, the rain 
ceased as if by enchantment, and everything 
resumed its usual state. The sky became a 
fine turquois blue, and the sun shone as in 
the past. Then Noah sent forth the dove 
that returned in the evening because he 
found no place to rest his feet. M 

* ' And because his mate was still in the 
ark ? " 

"Possibly. Seven days afterwards the 
dove was sent forth again, and again re- 
turned, but this time with an olive branch 
in his beak. ' ' 

"How an olive branch, when the olive 
grows in the valleys and only the mountain 
tops had appeared above the waters ? ' ' 



70 THE) LEGEND OF I,EN?. 

"Because the olive is a symbol of 
peace.' ' 

" Besides/ ' added the mother, "as the 
uprooted trees were floating on the surface 
of the calmed waters, the dove could easily 
take a branch. ' ' 

" But that would not show the earth had 
appeared/ ' 

"Stop your quibbling, Maurice, or I 
shall be displeased and not finish the story. 
Finally, seven days afterwards the dove 
went forth and returned no more." 

' ' But its mate — what did she do when 
she found he did not return ? " 

" The Bible does not say." 

"What next ?" 

1 ' Noah went forth and stepped on the 
ground.' ' 

" It must have been awful muddy." 

" No ; the sun had dried everything." 

" And it was not unhealthy ? " 

' ' You can well think it was not, as 
Noah lived three hundred and fifty years 



TH3 I^GEND OF I,ENT. 7 1 

longer. Then God, to reassure men who 
were filled with fear, set the rainbow in the 
sky as a sign of pardon and good faith. 
After that he had the animals to go forth 
before him, and they dispersed themselves 
here and there, each according to its own 
tastes and instincts." 

"Oh, how I wish I could have seen 
them!'' 

"When they had all passed out, Noah 
shut the ark. ' Stop ; that is not all," said 
the Creator. ' The fishes are still to come.' 

" l Not a fish went into the ark. Oh, 
Almighty Father ! where would I have put 
them?" ' 

" ' Indeed ! you have made a pretty piece 
of work, Mr. Noah. So, you hear — all the 
fishes to make again.' " 

' 'Just then a small voice made itself heard 
a few paces away. A track of foam, a head 
was passing, a little depressed head with 
eyes placed sidewise, the mouth large and 



72 THE) I.KGKND OF I,KNT. 

having great jaws that reached to the very 
throat. 

" ' TH£ WTTI,E FISHKS ARK UVING YET,' 

said the voice, laughingly. And imme- 
diately millions of heads, of every color, 
form and size, appeared at the surface, re- 
peating in chorus, 

11 * The little fishes are living yet* 

"God, in the first moment of anger, 
blew upon the water, and there was such a 
shaking up, down to the very bottom, that 
everything was topsy-turvy. From that 
time date the first flat fishes. They were 
flattened upon the rocks. This flash of 
anger over, the eyes of the Creator fell 
upon the rainbow, and recalling himself, he 
said : 

' * ' Come forward, you that was first to 
speak.' 

"The codfish — for it was the one — 
tremblingly lifted its head above the water. 
How changed it was ! Its eyes protruded 



THE I^GEND OF I^NT. 73 

from its head, and from being round had 
become flat as a cheese of Brie. 

"'What have you done during the 
deluge ? ' 

" 'Almighty Father, we kept ourselves 
quietly in the very deepest water, waiting 
till your anger would be appeased. The 
calm being restored, we took advantage of 
the high water to visit the mountains that 
we never had hoped to explore. We passed 
some days among them, part among the 
Pyrenees, the rest on Mount Caucasus.' " 
" ' By my beard, you are mocking me ! ' " 

' ' ' We have neither the wish nor the 
courage to do that.' " 

' ' ' After having deluged the earth, will 
I have to dry it up ? ' " 

"'You have forgiven, O Almighty 
Father ! ' entreated Noah, as he with his 
family fell at the feet of the Great Creator. 

' ' The good God took a middle course 
between the promises contradictory that he 
had made — that of exterminating all crea- 



74 THE I^GEND OF I,KNT. 

tion, and that of pardon. He conceived 
Lent, during which there is made every 
year a St. Bartholomew of fishes, and in- 
spired man with the idea of fasting twice a 
week. As the codfish was the one to speak 
first, it is the one that had to suffer most. 

1 * Now, Master Maurie, you know what 
you wish to know. I^et me read my paper, 
and give your arm to your mother, who is 
waiting for you." 



part IX. 

TRANSLATIONS, ETC. 



WINTKR KVKNINGS IN A PENSION. 77 



Stlintcr evenings in a frencb pension* 



Just a half dozen of us under the home- 
like roof of Mme, Rostan, in a beautiful 
quarter of Paris, in the year 1884. Three 
were Americans, and three French. We 
gathered in the salon of evenings when we 
were not going out. There were games, 
French conversations, stories, improvised or 
remembered, or adapted. This last furnished 
infinite amusement. Sometimes there were 
recitations and readings of original poems. 
The hostess had many in her portfolios. 
None had as yet been given to the public. 
She entrusted the following two with me 
for that purpose. 

Mme. R. merits a brief biography. Her 
grandmother was a duchess at the Court of 
Louis XVI. Her father was a refugee to 
this country when she was seventeen years 
old. Her education fitted her for the de- 



78 WINTER EVENINGS IN A PENSION. 

mands their reduced circumstances exacted. 
She opened a school for girls in New York 
City. It became a great success. In the 
meantime she lost her parents and was left 
alone, having no brothers or sisters. She 
accumulated what was considered a fortune 
at the time, out of which she was defrauded 
b}' a brother member of the church. This 
so wrought upon her that she gave up her 
school, went to Paris and opened a pension. 
She took with her an adopted daughter. 

She was a woman of extensive culture 
and many gifts ; a linguist, speaking several 
languages and familiar with their literature; 
quite a traveler ; a fine conversationalist, 
with an ease and distinction of manners that 
made her at home in any circle. As a com- 
panion I have known few equal to her. 

The pleasure of these evenings passed 
with her is indeed l ( one of the pleasures of 
memory." 



PIERRE AND MARGUERITE. 79 



Pierre and JMarguertte* 



A LEGEND OF THE TIMES OF PETER THE GREAT. 



In the Rhone's fertile vale, a quiet, pleasant 

spot, 
Iyies the village of Salin. What traveler 

has not, 
Attracted by something which he could not 

explain, 
Sighed and wished that his lot had been 

cast on the plain, 
Where, free from ambition, from care and 

from strife, 
In these simple abodes he could have passed 

his life, 
Where true love weaves the thread which 

affection has spun, 
And the blessed affection of Heaven has 

begun ? 



80 PIERRE AND MARGUERITE. 

The night had been lovely, and the first 

rays of light 
In the east were now dawning, while clear, 

pale and bright, 
The morning star rose, glad forerunner of 

day, 
And night's pale constellations with shame 

hid away 
From the splendor of him who with purple 

and gold 
Was now decking the landscape with glories 

untold. 



But hark ! Bells are now ringing a clear, 
merry chime ; 

Youthful voices are singing as in festal 
time ; 

Bands of youths and maidens in fairest 
array, 

With banners and ribbons and fresh gar- 
lands gay, 



PIERRE AND MARGUERITE. 8 1 

Issue forth from each road, from each path, 

from each street, 
On this bright summer morning the bride- 
groom to meet, 
For Pierre, of the sons of the valley the 

rarest, 
Is Marguerite to wed, of its daughters the 
fairest. 
Listen to their joyous song, 
Singing as they march along, 
il Happy, happy, happy day ! " 

From the hillside far away, 
Echo answers, " Happy day ! " 

And now at the altar the young couple is 
kneeling ; 

O'er the bride's snowy veil the sunbeams 
are stealing. 

Oh ! thrice blest be the tie which will bind 
them to-day ! 

And ever the sunbeams on their life's path- 
way lay ! 



82 PIERRE AND MARGUERITE. 

There ! the words have been spoken — the 

twain are made one ; 
The bravest and truest the fairest has 
won. 
1 ' Thrice then hail this happy day ! 
Come and join our bridal lay, 
Happy ! Happy ! Happy day ! ' ' 

From the hillside far away, 

Echo answers. "Happy day ! " 
All then to the bride's simple cottage 

repaired, 
To partake of the feast her fair hands had 

prepared. 
In the orchard the table was tastefully 

set, 
And many were the friends who around it 

there met. 
No rich vases of silver or gold decked the 

board, 
But roses and jasmines their sweet incense 

poured, 



PIBRRB AND MARGUBRIT^. 83 

While joy and contentment filling every 

breast, 
Gave plain wine the flavor of the choicest 

and best. 
Some small friendly offerings which she 

with simple pride 
Accepts, smiling sweetly, and to each in his 

turn 
Gives a bud from the flowers at her side in 

return. 
"And now will you kindly forgive/ ' the 

bridegroom cries, 
4 ' If for an instant the bridegroom from this 

banquet hies ? 
To my beauteous bride my heart longs to 

present 
A gem of rare beauty by Heaven truly 

sent!" 
With a mischievous look and a smile Pierre 

left them, 
leaving all w r ondering what good luck had 

brought the gem. 



84 PIKRRK AND MARGUERITE. 

When a half hour had passed, they began, 

every one, 
To ask what the bridegroom with his gift 

that morn had done. 
Yet in vain they still wait. Time speeds 

on, but no Pierre, 
With his fair, blushing bride, comes his 

treasure to share. 
Their anxiety can now no longer be con- 
trolled, 
And for him all are seeking, the timid, the 

bold. 
The youths over the village, the hills and 

the dale, 
And throughout the whole country, have 

spread the sad tale. 
Twice the lake has been dragged, and the 

forests resound 
With the cries of ' ' Pierre ! Pierre ! ' ' for 

miles around. 
But no answer returns to their anguished call, 
And many are the tears that for him long 

shall fall. 



PIERRE AND MARGUERITE. 85 

In the quiet village church burn the tapers 

every day ; 
On the steps of the altar poor Marguerite 

doth ever pray : 
" O, Pierre, my beloved, in peace may est 

thou rest, 
In that fair, happy land of the pure and the 

blest, 
Till the glad morning dawns when again 

thou wilt come, 
To take thy own Marguerite to Heaven, 

our happy home." 



PART II. 

Sixty years had passed away 
Since that mournful bridal day. 
Again o'er that village fair 
Floats the balmy summer air. 
Again roses blushing bloom, 
Jasmines shed their sweet perfume, 
And the miner's joyous song 
Echoes from the hill among. 



86 PIKRRK AND MARGUERITE. 

In the mine they swift descend, 
Turning to the further end, 
When a sudden cry is heard, 
Checking every joyous word. 
There had been a slide that morning in the 

mine, 
And startling to see, a young man they 

there define, 
Standing on the broken salt blocks which 

are piled 
In their pathway in confusion vast and 

wild. 
His dress is old-fashioned, but of festal 

array. 
On his lips is a smile, at his side a bouquet. 
His right hand is still a small box clasping 

tight, 
On which his blue eye seems to rest w r ith 

delight. 
But silent those lips and the eye motionless, 
And the hand cold and stiff which the 

miners would press. 



PI^RRK AND MARGUKRITB. 87 

Ah ! whence came the stranger so young 
and so fair? 

Sure none in their village e'er such costume 
did wear. 

On the grass they have laid him, in his 
youthful prime, 

In the cool, friendly shade of a wide-spread- 
ing lime, 

Where all press around him, the young and 
the old ; 

Yet his name and his country by none can 
be told. 

' ' Room ! Make room for the oldest among 
us, ' ' some cry. 

"Room!" for slowly advancing old Mar- 
guerite draws nigh. 

By the side of the stranger an instant she 
stands, 

Then she falls on her knees, clasps her cold, 
trembling hands, 

Exclaiming, " Pierre ! oh, Pierre ! I knew 
that thou wouldst come, 

To take thy own Marguerite to your blessed 
home. 



88 PIKK.RE AND MARGUERITK. 

See, I faithfully have waited, and now thou 

art here, 
And nothing more can part us, my husband 

so dear ! ' ' 
She bent over the body — her lips its lips 

pressed, 
And the poor, long-tried heart was forever 

at rest. 

The box contained a string of pearls and 
a small diamond cross, a present from Peter 
the Great, whose life the young miner had 
saved the preceding year, when the Czar 
was visiting the mine. 

' ' This is a true story. ' ' 

I,. F. Rostan. 



'ELIZABETH OF HUNGARY. 89 



ettzabetb of fiungary* 

A I^GEND OF THE XIII. CENTURY. 



'Twas early morn, but o'er the parched 

earth 
No cooling dew distilled — no fragrant 

shower ; 
The grass lay brown and dry, the young 

shrubs drooped 
Their fainting heads, and the leaves lifeless 

hung 
Upon the trees. The very atmosphere, 
With noxious vapors thick, seemed like a 

pall 
Over Nature's face to lie, while in the east 
The rising sun, as if with pity touched, 
Stood still, and long and mournfully gazed 
In the poor stricken earth. 

For months no rain 
The thirsty ground has steeped. The 

streams are dry ; 



90 ELIZABETH OF HUNGARY. 

The brook no longer leaps in joyous glee 
Adown the mountain side, and from the 

plain 
No busy sound of happy life ascends. 
Iyone, on the rough and dusty road, we see 
An aged man, in pilgrim garb, draw near. 
His step is slow — his feet no sandals wear ; 
His face is wan — his gourd no water holds. 
He's traveled far, and weary, sore, and 

faint, 
With anxious eye he scans the landscape 

o'er, 
Some cooling stream to find, his parched 

lips to moist ; 
But 'tis in vain. "And must I die? " he 

cries ; 
"Father have mercy now! Yet not my 

will 
But Thine be done, as it was in that hour 
When on the Cross, high raised on Calvary, 
Thine only Son for guilty men expired! " 



KUZAB^TH OF HUNGARY. 9 1 

'Tis mid-day now ; a goodly cavalcade 
Slowly along the mountain path descends ; 
A noble dame and her attendant maids, 
A holy priest, a page who missal bears, 
Are on their way to a most holy shrine, 
From which no prayer unanswered ever 

rose 
To Him whose heart compassionate still 

throbs 
In sympathy for human woes. And now 
They near the place where a rude stony 

cross 
By the road stands. No costly monument ; 
No gilded spire ; this simple sign alone, 
This sacred legacy of dying love 
Which Christ the Saviour left His followers 

here! 
They come — but see! Stretched on the 

burning earth, 
His arms around the sacred symbol clasped, 
An old man lay. Lifeless he seems. Yet 

mark ; 
Some drops of vital blood are oozing still 



92 KlylZABKTH OF HUNGARY. 

From out his wounded side. All stop 

amazed, 
All but the noble dame. E'er foremost, 

she 
Already kneels the dying man beside ; 
Her fair, soft hand his matted locks now 

part ; 
Her tears his temple bathe, and from the 

vase 
Of holy water she a few drops pours 
On his dry, burning lips, then binds his 

wounds, 
And straightway has him borne with gentle 

care, 
On her own palfrey, to her abode, 
Her proud lord's princely hall, the fortress 

strong, 
Where she, Elizabeth of Hungary, 
For years has dwelt, angel of light to all, 
Though slave to him whose love to her was 

pledged, 
But whose wild, jealous fears a tyrant 

make. 



KUZABKTH OF HUNGARY. 93 

He's absent now, and tenderly they lay 
The dying man upon her snowy bed, 
While all devoutly kneel around and bow 
Their heads in silent prayer. — Slowly life 

ebbs; 
One sigh, and all is o'er! 

But hark! the clang 
Of hastening steed in the courtyard re- 
sounds! 
A hurried step, and at the chamber door 
The proud lord stands. His eyes with an- 
ger flash, 
And wild with rage his lips are ope to 

curse. 
All tremble now ; the stoutest heart with 

fear 
Doth quake, save hers alone — his noble 

wife's; 
Undaunted she calmly before him stands. 
" Down on thy knees, my lord," she cries, 
" For Death is here! " And to the bed she 
points. 



94 EUZABETH OF HUNGARY. 

When lo! Oh! wondrous sight! Transfig- 
ured see 

The humble mendicant no more, but Him 

The Saviour blest, whose features radiant 
shine 

With light divine! 

The guilty man, amazed, 

Would still his sight distrust — in vain. The 
words 

Above that hallowed head, inscribed in 
light, 

No doubt can leave: " For verily I say, 

That inasmuch as ye these things have 
done 

Unto the least of these, my brethren here, 

Ye unto me, your L,ord, have done the 
same. ,, 



MY TEN FEET OF LETTER. 95 



My Ccii feet of Letten 



A VAGARY. 



You want a long, letter, and I don't 
like to write a long letter. An idea that a 
long letter is expected often prevents me 
from writing at all. I can't write a long 
letter, and I won't write a long letter. 

I don't object to the mere labor of writ- 
ing ; that I am doing all the time. The 
truth is, I am like Canning's Needy Knife- 
Grinder — "Story, God bless }^ou ! I have 
none to tell, sir." 

Stay, I've an idea ! Capital, ain't it? — 
not the idea, but the fact that I have one. 
I can write a long letter after the fashion 
of the French feuilleton — fool-ye-town — a 
rivulet of reading in a meadow of page. I 
will write a long letter, answering your 
letter, seriatim. Can you remember what 
you wrote ? 

Keep your eye on me \ 



96 MY T£N FEET OF BETTER. 

C , April 17,1867. 

Cousin Laura : 

Yours of 14th inst. received. 
Your opening alarmed me. 

I thought I had done some 

I had trampled on your tender feelings, 
I^ike a donkey on daisies ! 

. It was like reading my sentence — 
A long sentence. 
Your sentences are all long. 
I took a long breath and plunged in, 
And came out breathless. 
What had I done ? 
Next to nothing. 
I had written a short letter ! 
It said all that was needed. 
Not a word more. 
Suppose I had written none— 
What then ? 
Nothing ! 

* * # 

My ' ' conscience pricked " me! 
What if it did? 



MY TEN FEET OF BETTER. 97 

Haven't I got used to tliat? 

That confounded conscience will prick me, 

Somewhere — 

All the time. 

I am riddled and riddled, through and 

through. 
If I were to constantly cry, 
i * Come, riddle me, ris, and riddle me right, ' y 
It couldn't riddle me — 
More ! 

* * * 

You say I may kiss her. 

Humph 

I don't know 



You say she is 19. 
I hadn't figured up so much. 
Isn't that a few too many moons? 
I might get moonstruck. 
. How time flies ! 
Last night I heard a blue bottle-fly ! 
That meant summer. 
And heat ; 
And rain ; 



98 MY TEN FEET OF BETTER. 

And sirocco winds ; 
And morocco faces ; 
And sickness ; 

And laziness 1 don't like lotus eating. 

I hate summer. 

And I hated that Blue-bottle ! 

How I glared from my couch ! . . * 

« « M — mtn — oomm — mm — m. ' ' 

But I couldn't see him, 

Till he wheeled near the gas— 

Ha, the gas ! 

I waited. . . . 

' ' M — mm — ■ oomm — mm — m — wizzp !- 

dump. ' ' 
So much for Blue-bottle. 
If summer could only dry up as quick— 
As quick — 
As blue-bottle sizzled ! 
But that would sink half a year. 
Well, who'd care ? 
Not I. 

. . . Where was I ? Oh, 
She is too old 



MY T33N FE^T OF I/F/TTER. 99 

But you said I might 

'Twouldn't be my fault 

I bet I would 

I will ! ! 

* * * 

Major C is in Kentucky. 

We were invited together, 
And we can't come together. 

* * * 

One word. Do not think me utterly 
careless. I never allude to a gloomy sub- 
ject, if I can avoid it. Perhaps I may have 
a gloomy side, but I take care it shall not 
be on the outside. I do not believe in en- 
couraging the gloom of others, and I fight 
my own. 

* * sfc 

You enclose a note, 
Open. 

Why open ? 

Do you think I will read it ? 
Not any ! 

But she will think I have read it. 
LofC. 



IOO MY TKN FEKT OF LETTER. 

You may say, 
" Then close it yourself.' ■ 
I say, 

"That would be meddling." 
I never meddle. 

I shall hand it to her just as it is, and sim- 
ply say, 
"I haven't read it." 
Will she believe me ? 
Sooner — perhaps not ; 
Later — she will. 

^ * $ 

I have read your letter 

Through. 

I haven't " skipped half." 

I haven't skipped a word. 

So you have nothing to " forgive " — 

On that score. 

% * ^ 

I wish you wouldn't write on chequer-lined 

paper. 
Somehow, it reminds me of — 
I can't help it — 



MY TEN FEET OF BETTER. IOI 

The sentimental young lady. 

HERE SHE IS. 

"The sentimental young lady has a 
heavy epistolary correspondence. This is 
the serious business of her life. On coming 
down stairs in the morning, she darts upon 
the basket on the hall-table like a bird of 
prey. At other post-hours, she watches at 
the parlor window. She has learned to in- 
terpret the physiognomy of the postman, 
between whom and her there is gradually 
developed a masonic intelligence. Some- 
times he shakes his head, and says, "No, 
Miss," with a deprecating look; and, at 
other times, he puts the looked-for letters 
into her hands confidentially, and passes on 
as if relieved from a responsibility. 

"What is the subject of these letters? 
We dare not conjecture ; but we have a dim 
impression that they relate mainly to meta- 
physics, and contain the true key to ever so 
much of the philosophy of life. But we 
must here advert — and not without indig- 



102 MY TEN FKKT OF IyETTER. 

nation — to the practice this young lady has 
of crossing her letters. This she perpe- 
trates not only vertically, but often diagon- 
ally to boot ; thereby converting the letter 
into a dense congeries of scratches, as unin- 
telligible as the Rosetta Stone would have 
been, if its three inscriptions had been jum- 
bled together. It was our intention, we 
may hint to those concerned, if a certain 
borough that shall be nameless had not un- 
accountably rejected our proffered services 
in Parliament, to introduce a bill bringing 
this offense — at present reckoned a mere 
immorality — into the category of criminal 
misdemeanors, visited by lengthened impris- 
onment, bread and water, and the depriva- 
tion of pen and ink." 

Whew ! didn't that carry me comfort- 
ably over a long, bleak stretch of barren 
blank paper ! 

* * * 

That does for your letter. 
Have you kept your eye on me ? 



MY TEN FEET OF LETTER. 103 

Have I fulfilled ? 
You bet ! 

* * * 

After all, haven't we made some little mis- 
take? 
If this young lady is coming, 
Why don't she come along ? 
Why don't she write? 

My visits to the P. O. are absurdly frequent. 
I get frequently absurd letters ; 
But not hers. 

Not that hers would be absurd ; 

It would be kind o' scar't — 

Not absurd, 

No! 

What can I do ? 

Telegraph ? 

Where ? 

You say D . 

Laura thought S . 

But to whom ? 

Dunno. 

If I could, 



104 MY TKN F££T OF I^TTER. 

I would let her know, 
I am always waiting, 

When the D boat comes, 

Which it is 5 o'clock— 

A. M. ! 

And I'm singing, 

" Vake, lady, vake ! I am waiting for thee." 

But this vaiting 

And vaiting 

Is aggyvaiting ! 

• . . Somebody must suffer. 

I'm a dragon. 

If I lay claws on her — 

She'll catch it. 

If I don't— 

You'll catch it. 

'Ware, all ! 

* * * 
See what you have done ! 
That ain't my work ; 
It is yours. 

You wanted long letters. 
By ' ' you ' ' I mean everybody. 



MY TKN FKET OF I^TTER. 105 

I thought possibly you might thiok, 

" He don't write long 

Because he is — 

Surly.' ' 

Therefore have I, out of nothing, 

Evolved this seeming something, 

Which attentive examination 

Must involve to — 

Nothing, 

And leave me 

Looking like a — 

Fool! 

* * # 

Now : 

My letter was short, 

But good. 

/ don't claim it was good. 

I don't believe it was good. 

Only, good enough for you — 

Because you said it was good. 

Why not prefer 

Short good 

To long bad ? 



106 MY TEN FEET OF LETTER. 

. . . Excuse me ; I am interrupted. 
I did design to give you ten feet of letter. 
However, if you find this too short, I assure 
you that it will be long enough before you 
get another. 



JOTTINGS, ETC. 107 



FROM A EEW DAYS' INTERCOURSE WITH MISS 
PEABODY, SISTER OF MRS. HAWTHORNE. 



Sunday, April 2d, she read letters from 
the Hawthornes, who are in Europe. Some 
were from Mrs. Hawthorne ; some were from 
her daughter Una. In one of Mrs. Haw- 
thorne's there is a description of the il Mis- 
erere ' ' in one of the churches in Florence, 
quite as fine as anything I ever saw on this 
wonder of musical performance. One ex- 
pression struck me particularly — "Such a 
commingling of sound, one voice falling into 
another like lapsing waters." She gave in- 
teresting descriptions of the people they 
met with, among others the Brownings. I 
quote at random whatever struck me most. 
"Mrs. Browning's body is the slenderest 
sheath I ever saw for a soul." "A striking 
contrast in their manners ; he having all 
the quickness and impetuosity of his im- 



108 JOTTINGS, ETC. 

pulsive temperament, she still and contem- 
plative. Mrs. Browning is a firm believer 
in Spiritualism ; he, very much opposed to 
it, sweeping right over her gentle defense, 
like a river with its arrowy rush sweeping 
away some slender streamlet." "Mrs. B.'s 
father recently dead, having died without 
Word or sign for her. She married in oppo- 
sition to his wish, he being opposed to his 
daughters marrying, wishing to retain them 
with him out of sheer selfishness." She 
writes beautifully of her daughters. The 
family must be really extraordinary. Of 
one little one, six years old, she tells some 
very interesting things. It seems that 
"Rosebud," as they call her, has quite a 
talent for sketching. She sketched one 
day, on a slate, an "Annunciation." All 
the Annunciations are represented with Ga- 
briel in front of the kneeling Virgin, an- 
nouncing her coming glory. Rosebud has 
a different idea. In hers, two sister angels 
float behind the kneeling Virgin. Mrs. H. 



JOTTINGS, ETC. 109 

was so much struck witli the sketch, she 
had her copy it on paper, and sent it to Miss 
P. , who showed it to us. The conception 
is both beautiful and original, and she has 
executed it wonderfully well. The Angels 
really seem to float. It is done in mere out- 
line, but it tells its story. Her reason for 
having the Angels behind the Virgin was, 
that the Virgin was praying to God, and 
it would be irreverent in the Angels to come 
between her and God, as they seemed to do 
when they came in front. Rosebud is fond 
of prayers, and she teaches her little dog to 
kneel. One morning she told her mother 
she had had a splendid dream, but she could 
not tell it to any one in the whole world. 
Mrs. H. said she thought she might tell her 
own mamma anything. Then the little girl 
said, ''Well, if she would guess." From 
the little girl's countenance, she guessed it 
was something very pleasa?zt. ' ' Oh ! yes ; 
and good," she said. " I think it was the 
prayer you said last night made me have 



IIO JOTTINGS, ETC. 

it." "Then," said Mrs. H., "it must have 
been about Jesus. " " Yes, and the garden. ' ' 
' ' Something about the lilies ? ' ' " No ; but 
I cannot tell any more to any one, indeed. ' ' 
Perhaps you can write it," suggested the 
mother. Then she went behind the bed 
and wrote it, asking her mother occasion- 
ally how to spell a word. 

Una's letters remind me of Margaret 
Fuller's diary. There is the same self-con- 
sciousness and self-watchfulness, and the 
same unerring indications of an extraordi- 
nary soul and life in its incipient dawnings. 
She gives an enthusiastic account of Mr. 
Browning. ' ' His coming among us is like 
the breaking of the sun from the clouds." 
< * His features, except his eyes and fore- 
head, are not fine ; yet you forget that di- 
rectly, which shows of how little importance 
mere features are for the purpose of a noble 
soul. His face is very expressive, being 
the very mirror of himself, and in his case 



JOTTINGS, BTC. Ill 

having only noble and beautiful things to 
reveal.' ' She met Leigh Hunt several 
years ago in London, l ' before I was too old 
to be kissed by gentlemen. I felt sure he 
would kiss me, as all the rest did, to my 
supreme disgust ; instead, he took my hand, 
bent down and kissed it, and I have loved 
him ever since.' ' Here Miss P. remarked, 
1 ( She is like her father ; there is an atmos- 
phere about her." Of Powers she writes : 
* ' He has the largest eyes I have ever seen, 
and so penetrating they seem to look right 
through you. He is quite interesting in 
conversation, but sometimes, from being 
too particular in explaining every point, is 
a little prosy. He says color has no ex- 
pression. We all exclaimed at that ; but he 
glanced at us with an expression that 
seemed to say, ' Hold on, and I will prove 
it,' and indeed he made us look at it very 
differently. His son Preston is a fine young 
man, with the mechanical genius of his 
father. A few days ago he brought me an 



112 JOTTINGS, ETC. 

easel of his own manufacture for my table, 
which keeps me from bending while I draw. 
It is very ingenious, and my drawing teacher 
admires it very much.'* <C I am studying 
Latin, French, and Italian. I like languages 
very much, and the more I know of them, 
the more each seems necessary to express a 
different class of thoughts and feelings. The 
French seems to me the very one for v/hat 
is light, gay and witty, and I can say many 
trifling things in it I could not say at all in 
English. Italian is for the passionate and 
imaginative, and English for what is grand 
and noble. I don't know what I shall 
think of German, which I am to study next 
year." 

Miss Peabody introduced the Kinder- 
garten into the United States from Ger- 
many. Was quite as remarkable as her 
sisters, Mrs, Hawthorne and Mrs. Horace 
Mann. The three were a trio of unusual 
ability. 



E THE PRESIDENT IS DEAD." 113 



"€be president is Dead/* 



A MEMORIAL TRIBUTE. 



Everything in his life ' ' became him like 
the leaving it." 

Death, you have claimed our greatest, 
noblest, best. This is no exaggeration. Is 
not the assertion of an overwrought moment 
that the fleeting hours will bear into ob- 
livion. The proof is found in every phase 
of his character ; in every period of his little 
more than half century of years. What 
brevity of existence to bequeath such im- 
press to the world ! 

Step by step he can be followed from his 
birth to his grave. 

The proudest gift of motherhood is a 
son. This mother's pride was subordinate 
to her love. Yet she saw "William" in- 
augurated President of the United States, 



114 'THE PRESIDENT IS DEAD/' 

he showing his reverence and affection 
above the plaudits of the enthusiastic 
throng. And with what tenderness and 
homage he bore her to her last long rest ! 

Next to son came the brother, followed 
by school-fellow, youth, friend, young man, 
lover, husband, citizen, soldier, public man, 
statesman, President. L,ast of all, Martyr 
— Triumphant Christian. In none was he 
found wanting. 

Greater tribute than that — "In none 
was he found wanting" — mortal cannot 
command. 

The history of our race has furnished no 
more sublime a spectacle of the surrender 
of earth, the passing from life to death. 
Thanks to this era of the Public Press, all 
have had the privilege of sharing its many 
and most pathetic changes. There needs 
no recapitulation of the exhibitions of the 
most loving, most unselfish, most consider- 
ate, most meek, most patient, most reliant, 
most submissive spirit any son of man ever 



"the president is dead." 115 

showed. Many of us will, like Mary with 
the words of her son the Christ, ' ' lay them 
up in our hearts." 

Great examplar of the virtues of man- 
kind, may your incarnation as a human be- 
ing help to uplift the nations of the earth. 

May it reach, convict, and conquer the 
wretched creatures whose work is this das- 
tardly deed, and be a lamp to their feet, 
guiding them into the true pathways of 
L,ife, and burning into their hearts that 
divinest command, ' ' I,ove thy neighbor as 
thyself ; ' ' "Do unto others as you would 
be done by." 

May Mercy w r rap your beloved one all 
about, 

1 * Until ye two have meeting 
Where Heaven's pearl gate is." 

It is finished. All now is Peace, Rest. 
And forevermore Life Everlasting. 



n6 the; thisti^ gatherkr. 



Cbe thistle Gatherer, 



" The Thistle grows up in a single night." 

A pace or two this side the wood 

In which we had been roaming, 
A moment very still she stood, 

Framed in the purple gloaming. 
Her little hat with fall of lace, 

And tie of ribbon blue, 
Fell backward with a careless grace, 

As fell her mantle too. 
The restless glance sought everywhere 

For something still unseen, 
Nor paused on earth or sky so fair, 

Nor one less fair between. 

When suddenly, with glowing cheek 

And brightly flashing eye, 
With swift spring and low, eager shriek 

Yet air timid and shy, 



TH£ THISTI,£ GATHKRKR. 117 

She dropped upon the dewy grass — 

She caught the magic flower, 
Whose spell her lover to each lass 

Reveals with fateful power, 
She bends above entranced with joy, 

She handles carefully, 
And that there may be no alloy 

She breaks it prayerfully. 



And pray, what may the flower be 

That doth such power enfold ? 
And what the process by which we 

Its secret shall unfold ? 
'Tis but a well-known wayside one, 

Common as light of day, 
That blooms beneath the noonday sun, 

In fair and brave array, 
Along the high road, on the hill, 

In meadow, heath and lane — 
By river broad, by purling rill, 

And track of harvest-wain. 



Il8 THE THISTLE GATHERER. 

Far inland, close beside the sea — 

North, South, and East and West — 
Borne widely with the minstrelsy 

Of winds that never rest, 
And dropped on near or foreign strand, 

In harvests or alone, 
It hath sprung up in every land 

Till each land is its ow T n ! 
The quiet eye that oft espies 

It sailing, white seed down, 
Hath little thought how far it hies, 

Or where it shall be sown. 



There is no fairer sight I ween 

When summer 's nearly over, 
And fall's preluding gales are seen 

With fleets of this wide rover, 
Iyike elfin cars, or silver fair, 

Balloons by fairy hands 
Fashioned with tiny witchcraft rare, 

Or wave of tiny hands — 



THE THISTLE GATHERER. 119 

Or thoughts too subtle far for words, 

Too spirit-like for speech — 
Floating away like song of birds, 

Beyond our utmost reach — 



Or disembodied souls of flowers, 

In visible soul-sheen, 
Yet ling' ring through some fleeting hours, 

Where their late haunts have been, 
In some light, purgatorial sphere 

Of their immortal state — 
Perchance for sins committed here 

Of falsely-foreshown fate. 
O! Floral Oracle, the gift 

Involves the use divine, 
And reverent care to dare to sift 

The fates thou wouldst assign. 

Now the maiden slowly rises 

With a soft, abstracted mein, 
And her hand enfolds the prizes — 

Purple blooms in prickles green. 



120 TH£ THISTI^ GATHERER. 

Charmed Thistle, armed with lances ! 

Crimson spots her fingers stain — 
Ah! the wound success enhances, 

All. life's prizes come through pain! 
She nor marks the wound nor bleeding, 

Nor the flowers she holds so tight — 
Lost in revery, she seems rending 

Something by an inward sight ! 

Well we know both mood and meaning, 

Gentle maiden, as we gaze. 
Gray hairs have had their day-dreaming- 

Gray hairs were not gray always ! 
Wrinkled brows were once unwrinkled, 

Once untouched by scar or line ; 
Voices quavering now once tinkled 

Forth in laugh and song like thine : 

" The trial runs thus," 
So the maiden said, 
While the blood from her heart 
To her cheeks had sped. 



THE; THISTLE GATHERER. 121 

" You must gather the flowers 
In the twilight hours, 
As the dew begins to fall; 
The head from the stalk so tall, 
Purple bloom, green lances, all 
Sever with reverent care, 
And softly whispered prayer. 
Gather as many 
As there are any 
Whom thou dost as suitors claim ; 
The purple-bloom clip 
To the lances' tip, 
Then a flower for each of them name. 
Beneath your pillow, ere you sleep, 
Arrange them in a row; 
The one that most doth grow 
While you are lost in slumbers deep, 
If the Fate Flower you believe, 
You as husband shall receive.' ' 

" Maiden, will it break the spell 
If to me the names you tell ? ' ' 



122 THE THISTLE GATHERER. 

Such a shy shame veiled her eyes, 
Touched her face to crimson dyes, 
Made her shrink and turn away, 
That the words sought sudden stay. 
But low as a zephyr's sigh, 
Tribute, as it wanders by, 
To some June-eve opened flower, 
Found and lost within the hour, 
This response my ear did greet : 
* l One may tell if it be meet. ' ' 
" If you please," I said straightway; 
And, with her head still turned away, 
She began: "I have but three, 
In my hand as you may see : 
Juan, Carl and — and — this one ; 
I — I named him just for fun." 
To myself I laughed and said : 
" And — and — him you hope to wed." 
And then I recalled the two 
She had named, and one I knew. 
Juan, handsome, dark and proud — 
A man to mark in any crowd ; 



THK THISTLE) GATHKRKR. 1 23 

With a certain Spanish look, 

Stern and cold, that would not brook 

Cross in thought or word or deed ; 

Just the one all are agreed 

Not quite safe for married life — 

For tender care of child and wife. 

Carl was one of those we know 

By our heart — who a warm glow 

Kindle by their presence in you, 

And without an effort win you 

To revere, to love and trust, 

Just because you know and must. 

But it was the unnamed third 

Who the maiden's heart had stirred ; 

And next morn her radiant face 

Told that he had won the race, 

For his flower with blushes shown 

Had the others quite outgrown ! 



124 ON RKADING A CHRISTMAS I^TTER. 



On Reading a Christmas Letter, 



€t To read.'' Her letter — four years old 
This Xmastime — I sadly hold 
Ere opening ; yet would not forego 
The pain, the pleasure, that I know 
The reading it will give, — for she 
Who wrote it was how dear to me. 

Fast friends in girlhood's sunny years, 
Sharing alike our smiles and tears, 
The ties with time were added to, 
And ever but more tender grew, 
As sun and blue were, by and by, 
For long quite banished from our sky. 

I read — the words before me swim, 
The very page, the lines grov/ dim. 
But, ah ! herself I see so plain ; 
The great gray eyes clouded with pain, 
The fine lined brow, the pale worn face, 
The slight, frail form, its languid grace 



ON READING A CHRISTMAS LETTER. 1 25 

That now the feebleness concealed, 
And now the weariness revealed 
Which the long suffering years had brought, 
The years that in her only wrought 
Their perfect work in soul and mind, 
The dross of earth leaving behind. 

A moment — then with pauses I 
Read on and on. How pleasantly 
She tells of that past Christmas day; 
Of gifts from loved ones far away, 
From those near by; of Christmas tree, 
Of talk, of feast, of festal glee. 

Ah ! here, despite the tears, break smiles ; 

A flash of her old self beguiles. 

So sudden sharp she mocking said, 

"All our souvenirs were laid 

On a table, and I tell you 

I watched mine.' 1 Then, as merry too, 

Yet further on, where she makes feint 
Of being wronged in the complaint, 



126 ON "READING A CHRISTMAS I.KTTKR. 

4 1 One drop of — How could you refer 

To ," as though he'd neglected her ! 

Thus was she keen of wit and tongue 
When we were happy, careless, young. 

But last so touchingly is shown 
The season's spirit's higher tone. 
Not for herself without alloy 
The blessings of its love and joy. 
More fervently her hope is sped 
That they on others too be shed. 

O, little sheet ! how strange to see 
You here, while she — ah ! where is she ? 
The work remains ; the worker — none 
The mystery of her fate has won. 
Whence came she ? whither is she sent ? 
We do but know — she came and went. 



REJOINDER, ETC. 1 27 

Rejoinder to u X^u Don't Love Rim/* in 
a Newspaper. 



Do I love him ? Do I love him ? For my 

life I cannot say, 
While you fix your eyes upon me in such a 

threatening way. 
The gleaming lights within them like light- 
ning flash and fade, 
And though I wish to tell you, indeed I am 

afraid. 
Ah ! you're smiling I,aura, dearest. I can 

tell you now. Bend low, 
For I am not willing every one shall hear 

what you may know, 
And I have an idle fancy that when one 

speaks of love 
It were a profanation to speak the breath 

above. 
While to myself I'm saying, "Besides she 

will not see, 
Though the tell-tale crimson roses upon my 

cheek should be. ' ' 



128 REJOINDER, ETC. 

But imprimis you must promise me, by dog- 
gerel or dint, 

To make me some restitution, i. e. , take me 
out of print. 



And now for the confession. l,et me think 

what I shall say ; 
For you string your questions, pitiless, in 

such a pointed way, 
That memory turns accuser too and joins 

you with a sigh. 
(Oh ! will these braids upon my brow hide 

its flushing from her eye ?) 
When I think of that young month of May 

with all its bursting flowers 
That stole from out the dark Earth's clasp 

with April's tripping showers, 
Of the rambles in the sunny days upon the 

green hillside, 
Of the pauses in the myrtle grove— yes, I 

meant to be his bride. 



REJOINDER, ETC. 129 

And I think I've somewhere still, between 
my Shelley's leaves, perchance, 

A myrtle sprig, with other flowers he gave 
with such a glance, 

That I picked them all to pieces, little heed- 
ing thorn or stain, 

And didn't once — indeed, I didn't — lift my 
drooping eyes again. 



Yea, all that balmy summer time ! I re- 
member it by heart \ 

For life with its bewildering dreams no 
brighter one may start. 

I have not forgotten that in May I wished 
that it were June ; 

Then as June neared I timid grew lest June 
would come too soon ; 

Nor when both came how oft we sought the 
old elm by the lake, 

To watch amid its netted roots each shining 
ripple break. 



130 REJOINDER, ETC. 

The south wind in the leaves o'erhead its 
low, sweet song began : 

Iyove's lower murmur to my heart that gen- 
tle strain outran. 

Those moments gleam like crystals, and I 
try them with a touch 

Which Philisophs might liken well to some 
old miner's clutch. 

In truth, I tell you frankly — those memories 
are golden. 

Yet 'twould shame me to leave out that — 
the feelings all are olden ! 



The heart's a marvel ; and as for Love, it 

changes many a time ! 
And a saucy explanation shall cut short my 

mocking rhyme. 
As your anglers in the spring's full streams 

will ever be a-sporting, 
Your wild young poet-lover, dear, will ever 

be a-courting. 



RKJOINDKR, ETC. 131 

I — I — wearied of this worship told in words, 

and told in sighs, 
Till I vowed by those * ' Vesuvian fires that 

lit his midnight eyes," — 
I vowed it in the midst of that longed-for 

month of June, — 
Once it were gone, I'd surely learn " to sing 

another tune; " 
And vowed it when the sun's bright streams 

were ebbing o'er the hill. 
Not my haughty pride of womanhood shall 

change that girlish will. 
Forgive then, though that summer with its 

promises hath fled, 
And though her early love vow naughty 

Inez hath unsaid ! 



132 TO A MUNCHAUSEN CORRESPONDENT. 



Letter to a Munchausen Correspondent* 



Q'avez-vous, mon ami? 

Q'est-ce que je fait? 
II y a si longtemps 

Depuis vous — did go away. 

Ou etes-vous, mon ami ? 

I<a vie est bien triste 
A cause de votre long silence, 

1/ ennui est — so increased. 

Pas de vas nouvelles, 

Pas d'une lettre, pas d'un mot, 
Comme je vois les semaines 

Bien vite — come and go. 

Cette conduite ! elle me fait 

De la peine, car vous — 
N'avez-vous pas dites moi, 

" Ecrivez plus sou vent " — to you ! 



TO A MUNCHAUSEN CORRESPONDENT. 1 33 

Ecrivez vous, mon ami. 

Dites moi tous ce que vous faites, 
Pensez, voulez — en un mot. 

Toutes les choses a vous — to date. 

Vous me pouvez donner 

Explications galore ; — 
Comme de coutume? Bah! qu'importe 

Un mensonge — less or more ? 



134 A SACRKD ANNIVERSARY. 



H Sacred Hniriveraary. 



What are you doing now, this very day — 
This day of days, before you went away? 
Do you look down from heaven, oh! dar- 
ling, say 

And wish for me to-day ? 

Through all the hours, howe'er they wax 

and wane, 
I sit and dream the lost years o'er again, 
And feel anew their every joy and pain, 
And yearn for you in vain. 

You, just as you are, oh! how I long to see; 
Would the dear eyes light now as beam- 

ingly, 
Would the proud lips smile now as tenderly, 
As once for only me ? 



A SACRBD ANNIVERSARY. 1 35 

Oh! could a distance starlike and serene, 
With a whole crystal universe between, 
Ever between us, darling, intervene 

To change that loving mien? 

Away that thought ! I cannot give it 

place ; 
It would the very light of heaven efface, 
The dearest dreams of happiness erase, 
Nor leave of hope a trace. 

No ; as you were, you are, must be, indeed, 
With but that baffling change of spirit 

freed 
From mortal fetters it hath ceased to need, 
Yet losing not love's heed. 

Of whatso'er was noble, good and true, 
Of whatso'er was any part of you, 
That something best you here had found 
to do, 

Is not lost in the new. 



136 A SACRED ANNIVERSARY. 

Ah! though I strive, I cannot catch the 

glow 
That thy translated countenance must show. 
With you, howe'er, I yearn I may not know 
How this one day doth flow. 



FI.OWKRS FOR A GOOD-BYE. 1 37 



flowers for a Good-bye, from a toutig 
friend* 



The flowers she sent are wondrous sweet ; 

I seem almost to greet her ! 
Would she were near that she might hear — 

"The sender is far sweeter." 

Carnations, ferns, asparagus, 

Unique of combinations ; 
The flowers veiled in a mist of green, 

With their sweet exhalations. 

Carnations colored in rich dyes, 

The Tyrian purple's own ; 
But deepened upon lip and cheek 

Of hers are lovelier shown. 

Carnations with their dainty breath 

Perfumed like rarest spices, 
Yet sweeter than all perfumes hers, 

And more than theirs entices ! 



I38 FLOWERS FOR A GOOD-BYK. 

Go, little note, and say for ine 
How much the flowers I treasure ; 

But the sweet thoughtfulness they show 
Gives a far deeper pleasure. 



NON SKMPKR IDEM Fl,ORIBUS, ETC. 1 39 



Non Semper Idem floribus est Potior 
Tenia. 



Last year's flowers have fled, 
L,ast year's leaves are shed, 

Last year's glories all dead or dying lie. 
Now fresh flowers blow, 
Green boughs bravely show, 

And above us bend again bluest sky. 

But there never came 
Flowers or leaves the same 

As were ours in days forever past. 
Tender thoughts of death 
Chill their sweetest breath — 

Flowers so like yet so unlike the last ! 

All that with them went, 
Every dear event 



140 NON SEMPER IDEM FLORIBUS, ETC. 

Of the household year, the loving ties 
That were bound or broken, 
All the love unspoken, 

All the griefs repressed, within us rise. 



THE LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR'S GIFT. 141 

*Cbe Lieutenant - Governor's Christmas 
6ift, 



Chacun a son Gout ! 

You said, " I'll take mine in soap." 
' ' Soft soap ? ' ' queried I. 

You laughed — assent, (?) and so 
Here is a supply. 

The brand is beyond compare, 

And warranted, too ; 
For I've tried it, and know it does 

All that soap can do. 

Will turn to bubbles at will, 
Bright as those of Fame ; 

Ay, break in your grasp, dear sir, 
And vanish the same. 

Will " lather at once," and wash 

With an unctious flow ; 
The ne plus ultra bits of 

Good soft soap, you know. 



142 THK IJKUTKNANT-GOVERNOR'S GIFT. 

If further virtue's in it, 

If 'tis " simon pure," 
And fair trial will win it, 

Then you will, I'm sure. 

I find I'm not done with you 

Yet, Governor Grover ; 
There's matter besides that I 

Am thinking over. 

This soft soap is the type of 

Something signified ; 
Not that I dare try that on 

One so dignified — 

One whom, 'tis easy to see, 

All the gods above, 
(Goddesses, too, if they count,) 

Save the god of L,ove ! 

Have set sign and seal upon ; 

Lofty poet by Zeus, 
Warrior spirit by Mars. 

But why, in good sooth, 



THE UEUTEN ANT-GO VBRNOR'S GIFT. 1 43 

Attempt to specify each ? 

He who runs may read 
The wisdom Juno gave, used 

Wisely in his need ; 

The charms of the Graces three, 

The gifts of the Nine, 
Each — all required to make a 

Model man in fine. 

Who that knows you knows not how 

You win where you dwell, 
Dazzle where you roam, beyond 

My poor art to tell ? 

No, I dare not " soft soap " you ; 

Would not if I could, 
Because 1 know full well I 

Could not if I would ! 

Pray accept your Christmas gift ; 

'Twould not be my choice ; 
Nay, might I have ventured 'gainst 

Your potential voice, 



144 TH 3 ueutenant-governor's gift. 

Something rich and rare and fair 

From the Orient, 
Culled by daintiest searching hands, 

Santa Claus had sent. 

Iyike to like — in olden times 

Thus the proverb ran ; 
Hence the perfect offering 

To the perfect man ! 

And all I shall wish to know, 

O most honored sir, 
Or type or that it stands for, 

Which do you prefer ? 



* i*)Oi 



J] 



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DEC. IS 1901 



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